To understand the story, you must first grasp the origin of the flower. We shift back one thousand years, to a time when a goddess—renowned among the deities as a rogue, for she constantly subverted divine decisions—was condemned by her fellow gods. In secret, they conspired against her, resolving first to transform her into a beast and then to banish her to the realm of humankind, so that through her suffering, the true nature of humanity's dark, corrupted hearts might be revealed.
On one fateful day, the goddess was ambushed and cursed by the gods. Transformed into a monstrous creature, she was cast down to Earth. Upon her arrival, she sought the refuge of those she once called friends, only to be betrayed by the very beings she had vowed to protect. Ostracized by humans—labeled a monster, a beast, an inconsequential aberration—she was exiled to a desolate, dense forest. There, bitterness took root, and as the years passed, she conjured other fearsome creatures to exact her vengeance. Her relentless onslaught nearly annihilated humanity, until the gods, in a rare display of mercy, endowed a select few humans with divine powers capable of countering the beasts.
Decades later, the tide of war turned in humanity's favor when their united might was channeled through a man hailed as a hero. He defeated the monstrous deity; yet, in her final act, she imbued a flower with all the hatred she harbored for both humans and gods—a curse for anyone who dared claim it. Thus, the flower—laden with both malice and magical affliction—became forever crimson. As she perished, the flower bloomed briefly before vanishing, leaving behind a legacy that, every year since that catastrophic event, the same crimson flower reappears in disparate corners of the world. This is the origin of the flower and its curse.
Now, we return to the main narrative. One hundred years after that tragic epoch, a striking maiden named Aurelia was esteemed as the fairest in the land. Suitors—from commoners to nobles, and even kings—courted her relentlessly. The competition was so intense that tournaments were arranged solely in her honor; yet each time, the fighting ended in such carnage that the matches were abandoned—until one fateful tournament in which a man from the Kingdom of Keldorin emerged victorious. In the finals, he defeated an accomplished adventurer, and, as if by fate, Aurelia fell in love with him at first sight. This man, later celebrated as the illustrious prince Casimir, returned her affections wholeheartedly, and when the question of marriage was raised—driven by deep mutual love—she accepted his proposal.
Envy soon simmered among certain maidens and nobles, who conspired against her. They commissioned a band of daring adventurers to procure the cursed crimson flower. In a shadowy, hollow forest, the adventurer party located the flower; their specialist mage employed levitating magic to secure it, fearful of the curse. Upon arriving at the noble estate, they devised a further stratagem: wrapping the crimson flower in enchanted leather meant for roses, camouflaging its true nature, and storing it until an opportune moment arose.
As the days turned into months, the long-anticipated wedding became the subject of every whispered conversation. Nobles and commoners alike prepared for the event; even the kings meticulously readied themselves. On the wedding day, as Aurelia married the esteemed prince Casimir, murmurs arose. Some commoners whispered, "She's a monster—I envy her," while others threatened, "I'll kill her and claim her husband," and still others declared, "What a sweet couple!" Amidst the jeers, the ill-nobles scoffed dismissively, "Tch tch—let the festivities commence."
During the ceremony, as the patriarch proclaimed, "You may kiss the bride," Casimir drew Aurelia into a passionate embrace, lifting her high in a dramatic display of affection. Later, at the presentation of gifts, the conspirators arranged the crimson rose amid an array of blooms in an ornate etiquette display, enhanced by magic to render it the most alluring and fragrant of all. When one disdainful noble casually relinquished the rose arrangement, Aurelia mused, "Such ostentatious nobility gives me the creeps."
At the wedding's after-party, while sumptuous delicacies and lively entertainments captivated the guests, the Stewardess, perusing the gifts, discovered the rose arrangement. Noticing the name tag addressed to the new bride, she instructed an attendant, "Place this in the newlywed room." As the attendant departed, she pondered aloud, "Who sent this rose? Was it a token from friends, or perhaps a stratagem by a rival?" Eventually, she concluded its true nature and called the attendant once more, admonishing, "I hope that Aurelia doesn't fall for this deceit."
When the attendant knocked on the door, a soft voice beckoned him inside. Upon entering, he announced, "Madam, a package for you. Oh, Aurelia—this is an etiquette of roses. I imagine I might repurpose it as a natural fragrance." Signaling to Barin to depart, he left her alone. Approaching a boutique where myriad roses were displayed, one particular rose—distinct and almost otherworldly—captured her attention. As she plucked it, a thorn grazed her thumb. In that instant, time seemed to suspend as she replayed the moment with unnerving clarity. A shadowy, ethereal figure, imbued with a godly feminine presence, intoned, "So, you dare pick the rose? I curse you—the fate I endured shall now be yours, condemned to relive every excruciating moment I suffered." When Aurelia later examined her fingers, no trace of a prickling remained—leaving her to question whether the vision was real at all.
Soon, the maids summoned her for the continued revelries of the after-party. Yet, as the three moons governing this fantastical realm emerged—ushering in both day and night—Aurelia began to feel unwell. Her newly wedded husband, Casimir, inquired, "What troubles you?" She murmured, "It may be the wine..." But as the moon ascended to its zenith, she lost control. Her form contorted, and she transformed into a fearsome beast, an act of raw, uncontrolled fury. In the ensuing chaos, she fatally struck Casimir, her claws driving into his chest. As her monstrous form emitted a guttural roar, a single tear rolled from her twisted eye, reflecting the tragic visage of Aurelia in a moment of profound shock.
Though the maiden—now cursed with a beastly form—struggled desperately to halt her actions, it was all in vain. A heavy silence followed as the assembled crowd fled in terror, while a handful of noble ladies lingered to mock her transformation. "So, beauty conceals a beastly core," they jeered in unison. "If we cannot have him, no one shall." Lady Beatrice of the warring nation Agor, leader of a sinister cabal, proclaimed, "What did our beloved Casimir see in you? You are of no noble blood, yet he chose you over us—a slap in the face to noble women everywhere. For this affront, he must perish, and you are next: fallen beauty, or perhaps, the fallen beast. Let my subordinates dispatch you before the curse fully activates!" The masked men unsheathed their swords, their blades radiating a cold, murderous precision. Their leader signaled the attack as a final, scornful laugh echoed from the noble conspirator: "Bye forever."
Aurelia's Point of View:
I watched as the blades inched ever closer. A desperate longing for oblivion seized me—I wished for death, to be spared the unbearable guilt of ending my beloved's life. Yet the bitter words of those treacherous nobles stirred me. In that moment, all that remained was a blinding red, the carnage of fallen men, the relentless spread of blood as human heads tumbled. In a surge of grief, I cried out, only to be met by the formidable roar of a beast. I have since been haunted by that day, and the insatiable hunger for carnage drove me to lay waste to the town. None were spared; as they extinguished my love, they doomed themselves to follow him into the afterlife. My consciousness waned, and my eyes closed in despair, as I prayed they would never open again.
Thus, the rampaging beast left a trail of devastation across the lands. News of the atrocity reached the gods, compelling them to act—lest humanity perish entirely.